


Behind Closed Gates

by milesheizclub



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26920366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milesheizclub/pseuds/milesheizclub
Summary: Alex is just trying to navigate through the expectations and responsibilities that come with being the son of a billionaire CEO, and finds comfort and inspiration in a place he never in a million years thought he would: in meeting royalty at the Queen's Annual Garden Party.My second fic created for Chalex Reverse Bang 2020
Relationships: Charlie St. George/Alex Standall
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27
Collections: Chalex Reverse Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scharin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scharin/gifts).



> I've been having a tough time writing this past month and a half, not even gonna lie, but I SERIOUSLY couldn't pass up the opportunity to write for Scharin's gifset, which you can find here: https://fast-teen-and-furious-wolf.tumblr.com/post/631155965294690304/so-this-is-my-part-for-the-chalex-reverse-bang
> 
> Thank you SO SO MUCH to the moderators and organizers of the Reverse Bang for being so patient with me. 
> 
> This work is not completed, and I will be posting a couple more chapters after this. I hope you enjoy!

Office of Her Majesty’s  
Lord-Lieutenant of Oxfordshire  
263 Woodstock Road  
Oxford  
OX2 7AE

December 2017

Mr. William Standall  
c/o Standall Enterprises, Incorporated  
285 Fulton St, New York  
NY 10007  
United States

Dear Mr. Standall,

Royal Garden Party at Buckingham Palace

As Lord-Lieutenant, I have the pleasure and the opportunity to endorse a select few individuals who have made a difference to the community of Oxfordshire for an invitation to the last of Her Majesty The Queen’s Garden Parties at Buckingham Palace.

If you have not already attended a Royal Garden Party at the Palace before, I should like to recommend you for an invitation due to Standall Enterprises’ extensive and generous scholarship programs in Oxford University as well its comprehensive charity efforts in the city of Oxfordshire. You would be welcome to bring a guest of your choosing. If you so wish, you may also nominate someone to be your proxy for the event. Please be made aware it is of necessity that all attendees must be approved. The party shall be held on the 5th of June, 2018.

If you would like me to endorse you or any other representatives, please accomplish and return the succeeding form to the Lietuenancy Office as soon as possible, and no later than the 30th of January, 2018. If it is easier for you, please feel free to telephone and discuss this via phone call with Kevin Porter in the Lieutenancy Office on (+44)18655 15477.

If the endorsement passes, an invitation will be sent to you or your representatives from the Lord Chamberlain’s Office one month before the Garden Party.

Yours sincerely,

GARY BOLAN

-

“King Cole Bar, females? Seriously?” Alex said as he approached the two underage ladies he had been looking for. He plopped down on one of the leather seats between the two as he took off his shades, tossing it on the table, revealing bloodshot eyes and dark, brooding circles. “What are we, 70 year old Gossip Girl? Who even still comes to The St. Regis?”

“All this coming from the male wearing a turtleneck for brunch two weeks to summer,” Jessica said, crossing her delicate, tan arms. “And can you please respect the sunglasses I got you? You don’t find vintage Issey Miyake everywhere, you know?”

“First of all,” he said, “it’s a _mock_ turtleneck, and it makes me look way cooler than I actually am.” The girls laughed and Alex fixed his glasses so they stood neatly on the table. “Second… I do love the glasses, thank you, and I care for them deeply, with my whole heart. They’re the best glasses ever, I can’t live without them.” Jessica pinched his arm lightly, earning herself a yelp. “I just… I’m stressed is all,” he finished, rubbing the spot Jessica just pinched. He rested his elbow on the table, burying his face in his hand and mussing his lush, light brown hair. “God, I need a drink.”

“And this is exactly why we come to King Cole,” Jessica said, slapping the edge of the table. “A little tip to the waiter and to the bartender, and they magically forget how to ask for ID. Black Russian, right?” Alex nodded. “It’s coming, don’t you worry your tight little butt. We’ll get some alcohol in you yet. Also, apparently this place invented the Bloody Mary, which is why Beautiful Nightmare over here,” she said, gesturing to Hannah’s sloppy posture, “is even in our presence to begin with. I’m surprised she made it here before noon, to be honest.”

“I don’t even wanna talk about it,” Hannah said, slurring her speech, the effort to talk forming a glowing sheen against her porcelain skin. “My brain is throbbing and everything either of you say just sounds like a drum beat. But don’t let me stop you.”

The waiter came over with their drinks, Jess settling for a mimosa, and she slipped him two 50-dollar bills before he walked away. Alex chuckled as he took a sip of his own.

He looked his friends in the eyes one by one, sighing and slamming his hand face down in the middle of the table. “FML, guys.” The two girls immediately leaned forward, placing their hands on top of his. “FML,” they repeated.

“So what’s up? Why the distress call?” Jessica asked, squeezing his hand as they separated, Hannah reaching for her drink and taking two big gulps.

“Dad wants to talk to me today. Something about a ‘great opportunity’. God, I hate when he tells me things like this,” he said, taking another, longer sip. “He’s really been pushing me about college, recently. That’s all he really talks about with me anymore, and he goes around and acts like my SATs are 200 points higher than they are. He still thinks I can get into Columbia, and I just… don’t know how to break it to him that it’s probably not going to happen.”

“But you can still get into the music program,” Jessica offered. “Isn’t that what you actually wanted? They care more about your audition than any test score anyway.”

“Oh I’d love to go to _that_ Columbia,” Alex said, “but seeing as how Peter’s basically some kind of child prodigy businessman, I can just see him wanting me to follow suit. Keep the business in the family, and all that shit. Imagine me in business school,” he said.

“So what’s the opportunity?” Hannah asked, mouth still attached to the lip of her glass creating a muffled echo which fogged up the glass.

“I don’t know yet.” Alex sighed and leaned back in his chair. “He’s trying too hard. He wants me to succeed, but he doesn’t know how I wanna do it. Hell, _I_ don’t even know, and the only way I’d get the _opportunity_ to go Ivy League at this point is if he landed me a meeting with some Dean and the old fart just so happens to have a fetish for getting off to lanky white twinks.” He fiddled with the glass in front of him, and swiftly brought it up to his lips, downing the rest of the drink while the two girls looked on in concern.

“Alex, you can do anything you want, you know that right? Bill’s a really good man,” Jessica said. “And a great dad, too. I know you know that.”

“Yeah, and you got a 1400, what are you even talking about?” Hannah said “Stop acting like you’re dumb shit, Alex. You know you’re better than whomever it is you’re convincing yourself you are.”

Alex stayed silent, crunching on the ice cubes that were left from the drink until they had completely melted away.

“I’m disappointing them, I can tell,” Alex said quietly, and the girls leaned in closer.

“Who told you that?” Jessica asked, hand finding Alex’s on his lap.

“I can just see it. It’s the way they all look at me. Ever since…” Hannah and Jess looked at each other, their hearts dropping at the mention of _that day_.

The three of them didn’t like to talk about what happened, least of all Alex. Everytime they did they would seize and turn pale - the day they were too reckless with a bunch of strangers, all kids their age, and a bunch of coke, and a gun that shouldn’t have been there, in a hotel room in Jersey, of all places. They danced to nothing, and they played with everything. And when a loud bang echoed through the room, and found Alex lying in a puddle of blood on the floor that pooled right around his head, the strangers packed up and ran, leaving Hannah and Jessica to pick up the pieces while high out of their minds.

“You should see them when we’re alone,” Alex said, his voice just above a whisper. “They look at me like I’m too much.”

“But we’ve been good,” Jessica reasoned, and Hannah agreed with a dizzying nod.

“Really good,” she said.

“Aside from the drinking?” Alex joked, and the girls smiled back.

“A little brunch cocktail never hurt anybody,” Hannah said, taking another huge gulp of her Bloody Mary. “The Irish are allowed to drink at _five years old_.” Alex laughed back at them, and the two girls settled in their seats again, comfortable at where the conversation ended.

“God, I have to get going,” he said, checking his watch and putting his sunglasses back onto his face. “Wish me luck. College talk is the fucking worst.”

-

Alex stood confused, flush against the front of the table. “Excuse me, you said I’m going where?”

“To Buckingham Palace!” Bill exclaimed from behind his desk, throwing the official invitation across the marble surface straight into Alex hands. It was a tiny envelope, the stamps making it seem like just any other letter. He opened it gingerly to reveal a small card, embossed with the insignia of the royal family at the top.

_The Lord Chamberlain is_

_commanded by her Majesty to invite_

_Mr. Peter Standall_

_and Mr. Alexander Standall_

_to a Garden Party_

_at Buckingham Palace_

_on Tuesday, 5 th June 2008 from 4 to 6 pm_

“Dad, why does this have my name on it and not yours?” Alex asked in disbelief as he read over the tiny card again and again, flinging it back across the desk when the text didn’t change.

“I recommended you and Peter instead,” Bill said simply.

“Why?”

“There’s too much going on with the company right now – all the deliverables are hitting us at once, and I need to stay behind. So, I need people I can trust to go in my place. You’ll be fine, Alex, it’s just a party.”

“At Buckingham Palace? What is this, some kind of racist mixer? Like a daytime Met Gala for the snooty and snotty? Dad, you know I hate these things. I can’t talk you or the company up for shit. What even _is_ a garden party? All I’m picturing in my head right now is bunch of little girls with headbands and fluffy dresses running around super wet grass and getting their dumb little white tights stained, and… and pouring tea out of Mrs. Potts right into Chip, and eating dry-ass biscuits those people call _scones_. Just have Peter go on his own, dad, please. He’s so much better than me at representing you, you know that. He’s got that scarily approachable _I’m not the boss but you’re gonna listen to what I say anyway_ kinda thing going for him that’ll fit right in with the royal crowd. And I don’t want to socialize with, weird, old, dimwitted, anti-choice people that allowed Brexit to happen. _Brexit_ , dad. And they stab people! Did you know that? They stab people because they have better gun control, so they just carry knives around.” He crashed into his seat, catching his breath.

“Alex?” Bill made his way around his desk and sat on the corner right in front of him. “Is something wrong? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“It’s…” Alex sighed in frustration, curling into his own body a little bit further. “I don’t… I don’t know where that came from, I’m sorry.” He buried his face in his hands, breathing heavily through the cracks of his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, the words muffled by his palms pressed firmly up against his lips.

“It’s okay, son, don’t push yourself.” Bill lowered himself to kneel on the floor in front of Alex, keeping as little distance between them as possible without actually touching the boy. “Has the anxiety been bothering you a lot again?”

“No,” Alex said immediately, dropping his hands and seeing Bill’s worried eyes. He clamped his hands together, rubbing furiously at the skin on the pads of his fingers, and tore his eyes away from Bill. “Maybe a little,” he said, finally, in order to appease his father.

He couldn’t look at him again. Not yet. Not until he got rid of that stupid expression on his face. It was the pity that he hated most of all. He had bathed in pity ever since he gained consciousness in the hospital again two years ago. It was non-stop, even from people he didn’t know. From online publications that tracked his every move. _Alexander Dean Standall, 16, son of billionaire business mogul William Standall, seen in public for the first time since near-fatal incident, with head bandage and crutches._ The three families paid a hefty price to keep the substance abuse out of the news. His face was still plastered everywhere, though, even though no one gave a single shit about him before all this happened. He wanted to throw up every time a stranger held a door open for him.

Alex could only remember certain snippets of his last conversation with his dad before the incident – most likely due to a combination of high doses of stimulants in his system plus the TBI and its side effects. All he really remembered was that there was too much yelling, more yelling than he’d ever done before, and a look of shock and hurt on his father’s face. It felt like triumph, at the time, seeing the man who was on top of the world knocked down a few pegs by his own blood. Like he’d found the man’s weakness. It was cruel, now, to think about. No matter how blurry the pictures were in his mind, the subject was crystal clear. He was a dumb little kid, making dumb choices. And that wasn’t what he wanted to do anymore.

“Alex,” Bill whispered. “Can you look at me, please?” It took a minute, but Alex complied, wanting to, anyway. Wanting to find comfort, even when he couldn’t particularly ask for it. “Is there anything I can do?”

Alex considered it - telling him that he was sorry for not wanting to do the things he did, to be the things he wanted him to be. He considered telling him to let him do what he needed to do in order to find himself, to be the most free version of himself he could be. But there was also the other side of himself to consider – the side that came to terms with how much hurt he’d put his family and friends through, and he loved them too much to put them through any amount of hurt ever again if he could avoid it.

He shook his head, and Bill sighed.

“Have you been talking to Dr. Ellman?” Bill asked gently. Alex gave a tired nod. “Has it been helping you?”

Alex nodded again. “I think so. I’ve been trying to track myself, and it’s been working for the most part. It’s just been flaring up the past couple of months, I don’t know why.”

“Is sending you to London going to make it worse?”

Suck it up, Alex. Just fucking go. Just do this one damn thing.

“I don’t think so,” he said through the tightest of lips. “I have my meds and Ellman in my contacts. And I have Peter too, I guess. I’ll be fine.” He gave his dad a reassuring smile, which didn’t seem to convince him too much.

“If it makes you feel better,” Bill said, “it’s a bunch of people who’ve done great charity work. They’re not too selfish, I don’t think.” Alex snorted at this, effectively alleviating some of the tension that had built up in the room.

“It does actually,” he said, his lips curling up minutely. “Thanks, dad.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” Bill replied, grabbing the edge of the table to assist himself standing back up. “I’ve got a meeting in a couple of minutes, but I’ll see you at home, okay?”

“Sure, dad.” Alex stood up and gave his dad a quick hug goodbye before turning to head out.

“Oh, kid, I forgot,” Bill called right before Alex closed the door behind him.

“Yeah?”

“The snooty and snotty? Really?”

Alex laughed and shut the door.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn’t have a particular fondness for the jet. The lights were too stark, and the toilet sucked, and it always drove Alex crazy when their bodyguards would tag along, knowing that they were trained in hand-to-hand combat, and that the pens in their breast pockets were meant to jab the eye of any potential threats that came near. But Bill always said it was the only way he felt they were safe enough. Alex didn’t feel safer, but so be it.

The pressure started to build up in his ears due to the rapid change in altitude, so Alex popped some gum in his mouth and plugged his wireless earbuds in, immediately drowning himself in music. Today’s album: _Snarky Puppy – Family Dinner Volume 1._

Whenever Alex closed his eyes and let himself get lost in each vocal riff, each hit of a hi-hat, each pump of a trombone, each strum of a tenor guitar or beat of a bass drum, he could see their vivid colors behind his eyelids. He was able to create space where there was none, color where there was darkness, clarity where there was once just an unending, unrelenting uncertainty. They formed such pretty pictures – Pollock and Rothko would cry in shame if they saw the images these musicians made. If only one could hang a song on a museum wall.

When he listened and created his own worlds like this, behind the doors only he had the keys to, everything made sense. It was just about the only thing that made sense to Alex anymore.

He thought of how it moved him – the rise and fall of a melody, the changes in tempo and time signature, the chords that flowed seamlessly into each other, the introductions of each new instrument. These things crawled their way into his veins, breeding in the red, inspiring new voices and songs out of him, pumping his blood and pulsing at his neck and wrists, reminding him how _alive_ he was.

“Alex, buddy?”

His eyes flared open, and he hastily filled his lungs with air as he looked around, completely disoriented at first. He was in the jet, still. And he was with his brother.

“Whoa, slow down, we’re fine.” Peter said as Alex found his bearings, now back in reality once again. “You okay? You looked like you were sleeping pretty good there.”

“I didn’t even realize…” he said, his voice still groggy, still trying to blink the fog away. “How long was I out for?”

“Five hours,” he replied.

“Well shit…” Alex’s eyebrow shot up. “Guess I needed it, then.” He tried to laugh it off, but couldn’t shake off the wary stare that Peter had trained on him.

“Yeah, I guess you did,” Peter said. He quickly realized that Alex wasn’t looking at him anymore, the boy’s gaze focused on Peter’s assistant and both their bodyguards who were just within earshot. Peter gestured for them to transfer to the private compartment, and Alex visibly relaxed, his shoulders no longer touching the bottoms of his ears.

“You’ve been tired as fuck recently,” Peter started, scooting forward in his seat across Alex’s. “How’ve you been sleeping?”

Alex shrugged. “I’ve been getting enough,” he said as casually as he could, but Peter did little to suppress that he was thoroughly unconvinced.

“How much is enough?”

“Anywhere from two to four hours.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“A month or so.”

“Jesus, Alex.” Peter leaned back, fixing his gaze to the window beside him, except he wasn’t looking out into the sky – he was just looking for the right next thing to say. He looked back at Alex, whom he found had followed suit and was now fixated on the greying clouds just outside the window. “Do you need some kind of sleeping aid? We could fix you an appointment to figure out the insomnia.”

“I think the last thing I need is more drugs,” Alex said bluntly, and Peter grimaced.

“Do you know what’s been keeping you up, then?” he asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Alex said. “I’ve just been stressing myself out I guess.”

“Hey you’re not stressing yourself out, you’re just getting stressed,” Peter reminded. “It’s not your fault, okay?”

Alex nodded, head still in the clouds outside. He was being difficult, surely, but not moreso than usual. He was hard to handle, Alex knew that, and whenever he was like this, he wanted to stop. Of course he did. But somehow, Alex’s mind thought ‘stop it’ meant ‘freeze’, and so he would sit just like this. Ice cold. The problem was that even frozen like this, he never shut down. He was always listening. And this was not the music he liked - that of the voice of his brother trying to get through to him, and the silence that hurt them both.

“What’s been stressing you out?”

Alex was scared to say anything at all, afraid that anything he said would land him yet another appointment, yet another evaluation, yet another prescription, yet another reminder that he was, in fact, still being put back together. He wasn’t whole, yet.

He didn’t respond until the jet started to descend five minutes later. The stretch of silence was longer than they were used to nowadays, Alex having been more mindful about communicating with everyone, but it wasn’t a record. Alex still remembered the four day period in the hospital in which he refused to see or talk to absolutely anyone other than his personal nurses. It caused so much turmoil, even months after he apologized, casting doubt on whether or not Alex would ever get past this, and whether or not his family would be by his side if he ever did.

“I don’t know,” he finally whispered.

“Well, have you been seeing Dr. Ellman?” Ethan asked, and there was something about the way he said it, the earnesty in his voice, that hit the wrong note inside of Alex, and a string inside him had snapped.

“Look, I know you guys are trying to look out for me,” he said, desperation rising through his throat before he could stop it, turning to lock his eyes onto Peter’s. “And I know that you’re expecting for me to be back up and ready in no time for all the things I need to be prepared for. I have no fucking clue what dad has up his sleeve for me, but I’m still _trying_. I’m trying as hard as I can, and I’m doing all the things I need to do. But you all need to stop asking me if I’m still seeing my fucking therapist, of course I’m seeing him. We’re paying to see this guy and I’m not about to burden anyone any further than I already have by wasting all this energy I’m given.”

“Alex you’re not a bur-“

“And please stop telling me that I’m not a burden because I can see the way you treat me. You should hear all the bullshit that you guys tell me, it’s all so fucking ridiculous. You all act like I’m some walking miracle, when the truth is, I’m two wrongs that didn’t make a right. I’m the privilleged fuck up that made too many mistakes and didn’t even die for it.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore, and he started closing and flexing them open, reaching for things that weren’t even in front of him. “I’m already broken, alright? Yes, I can walk again, and yes, you can barely see the scar in my hairline anymore, but I’m still so broken in _here_ ,” he said, tapping furiously at his temple, the itch on the surface of his skin starting to penetrate deep into his core.

It was rare that Peter was rendered speechless, in cases like these. He was always the kind of person that aimed to fill the void – the kind of person that knew the right thing to say when no one else did. That’s what made him so good with partners and clients. Not so much with helpless brothers who could take anything he said and burn it into deep, black coal.

Alex didn’t like the silence that followed, not used to having to wait for Peter to come back and coddle him. His arms were always so warm when they wrapped around him, and so were his words, no matter how much Alex chose to refuse them.

Peter picked up his laptop and set it down on the small table between them, his eyes contrated on the screen and his brows set low in focus and in frustraion, as far as Alex could tell, and Peter didn’t say another word. The jet continued its descent and Alex’s heart started to drop down with it, panic setting in and filling his chest.

His fingers turned restless, constantly bending and stretching, thrumming at his knees and squeezing the fabric of his slacks as he writhed in his seat and in the deafening silence. He could feel his blood rushing through his veins, buzzing against his skin like loud, unwieldy trains on old rusted tracks. The ringing in his ears grew and the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms began to raise. Alex couldn’t hear anything anymore, even if he wanted to, until the jet had finished its rocky touchdown.

It didn’t matter that Alex wanted to say something, anything, to get his brother talking again – his brain wouldn’t let his lips move. And as the plane slowly emptied, he knew he was about to miss his shot, as once they’d step out of there, they’d ride in separate cars, they’d sleep in separate bedrooms, and Peter would go off fraternizing with potential clients and investors and Alex would be stuck at the kiddie table with god-knows-who.

Soon enough, it was just the two of them left on the plane, and as Peter finished packing up his things in his briefcase, he cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Alex, who sighed in relief.

“Please let me finish this time,” Peter said, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, and Alex nodded. “We both have a lot on our plates,” he continued, “those are the cards we’ve been dealt, and I know that it’s been hard to deal with. I can’t even imagine what that’s like for you to have to worry about… not just because of your accident, but because you’re so fucking young. And that stuff’s hard enough, but the thing is, you’ve taken on so much more than all that. You’ve taken responsibility for things that aren’t even your fault, when all we wanted you to do is heal. And you needing our help doesn’t make you a burden to us. I’m so sorry we didn’t make that clear to you.” He shook his head as Alex was drawn closer, his eyes close to tears. “We’re always ready if you need us. And we’re always watching out for you even when you don’t think we are. You got that, bud?”

Alex nodded and sank lower into his seat, fighting and failing to stop tears from falling. “I don’t think I can do what you do,” he whispered.

“It’s because you don’t want to,” Peter said, “and that’s perfectly fine. Dad’s starting to get that, too, I think. I’m making sure he does.”

Hearing this, release flooded from Alex’s shoulders up into the top of his head. “Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t… I don’t…”

“You’re fine,” Peter said as he stood up, Alex following his lead. “You are fine, right?” he said, placing a hand on Alex’s shoulder. Alex nodded in reply.   
  
“I’m good, I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

When Alex pictured the garden party in his head, he pictured exactly what he was seeing around him, sans the funky hats and the lack of any alcoholic libation that he could drown himself in. They were corded off in the exclusive section, which Alex came to find out didn’t always happen at these events. He expected to be mingling with British charity workers and event organizers from Oxfordshire, being a model representative for Standall Enterprises and celebrate these hardworking individuals. What he didn’t expect was to be looped in with pompous Republican Americans with more money than they were responsible for, and hoity-toity royals no one had ever heard of.

At 4pm on the dot, they lined up like dogs at a competition to be appraised by the judging body known as The Royal Family. When the national anthem played, Alex couldn’t stop himself from laughing quitely, which earned him a few glares from the royals and the boot-licking Americans in his section. Except for a lone wolf, he noticed. One lone wolf in a sea of pale, pale snow. A taller man in a three-piece lounge suit with a goofy smile nodded at him, and Alex felt as if they shared a secret.

The Queen was escorted to their section first, as was expected. What Alex didn’t expect though were the sudden sharp inhales of the inbred elite around him, thinking they were too self-absorbed to care too much about some rich old lady from across the pond. Her face was on money, Alex reasoned.

He shook hands with Her after a while, which felt just as strange as whenever he kissed the cheeks of different aunties he didn’t remember ever meeting. He knew that she didn’t know him anyway, an escort whispering in her ear just as she shook hands with his brother before him. It was the pageantry that was the most vomit-inducing, having to make good in the eyes of people who wouldn’t know your name the next day. Some would call it a one night stand. Others, like Alex, would call it a waste of time.

Peter had effectively taken over the role of company representative at, what Alex was now calling, ‘the function’, and he was left to his own devices. He recognized a few faces in the American crowd, faces that he’d blocked from memory and social media, and wanted to get away from the sliminess he felt when looking at them for too long. He wanted to talk with someone and make the most of the afternoon, but the only semi-viable option was an acquaintance from his old school, Clay Jensen, who happened to be there due to his mother’s prolific international human rights activism. But Clay himself was quite neurotic, and it wasn’t the kind of energy that Alex wished to channel back into his life.

He looked around, spotting the servers with various sandwiches, pastries and treats on metal trays serving only the VIP section, and Alex laughed at the caricature of it all, and decided to go the buffet table instead. It was littered with miniature cakes of all flavors, all meticulously decorated and precisely laid out over spotless white cloths and on stunning sterling silverware.

“Looking at the spread I see,” a buttery british accent said from behind him. Alex turned around to see Smiles from earlier with yet another toothy grin as he adjusted a smoked salmon canapé on the bottom of a three-tier display, which Alex promptly snatched from its place as the boy’s fingers left it. He laughed, and Alex popped the treat into his mouth.

“Can’t help it, it all looks so enticing,” Alex said through a full mouth.

“Any favorites yet?”

Alex pointed to his mouth. “Well, this one’s actually pretty good.”

The boy’s smile grew as he looked at the display, picking up a canapé for himself and taking a bite from the side of it. He nodded slowly, visibly rolling the fish in his mouth, making Alex gulp the rest of his food down. The boy nodded after a while, seemingly satisfied with it before tossing the rest of it down.

“I’m glad, we worked hard on these,” the boy said, and Alex’s eyebrows perked up.

“You made these?” Alex asked.

“Well… I helped develop the recipes, yes.” The pride on his face was infectious, and Alex couldn’t help but return the smile.

“You’re like a chef, or something,” he teased.

“More like an overly eager food enthusiast with too much influence at his disposal.” The boy extended his hand out, and Alex took it readily.

“Alex Standall,” he said.

“Charlie St. George.”

Alex’s brows furrowed at the name, surprised that he actually recognized it in the moment, having seen it in a headline on The Sun or The Guardian long ago, and then it clicked.

“Wait, you’re-,” Alex said, eyes wide and his grip on Charlie’s hand suddenly tighter. “You’re Prince Charles Hayden.”

Charlie sighed and let go of Alex, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I usually get away with that with Americans. Just Charlie, please,” he said, the smile on his face dimming slightly. “No need for all the other things.”

Alex didn’t know the whole story, of course, he understood that much. Trusting the word of a British tabloid was like taking the blue pill. Turns out, though, that the baseline of the story remained true: Charles Hayden Brixton St. George had been assumed into the Royal Family immediately following the unexpected death of his mother, and had adopted the title Prince Charlie of York, prepped to assume the title of Duke once he turned 18. A curious case, as his mother had abdicated her title long before her death, or even before Charlie was born.

He observed Charlie, his eyes no longer meeting his and his stance more uncomfortable than it had been a moment ago, and there was something about his current bashful yet determinedly confident air that drew Alex in, and he found himself taking a step forward.

“Alright. Just Charlie, then,” he said, and Charlie’s smile reached his eyes once again. “So, Just Charlie, you seem a little young to be handling the catering for such a major royal event, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I definitely do think that, but I hardly had to do anything. Just messed around in the kitchen with a bunch of people who actually do this for a living,” he replied, chuckling. Alex had no idea that a British laugh could be so intoxicating. “And what, might I ask, is your name?” he asked.

“Oh, Alex. Alex Standall. My brother’s here too.”

“Ah yes, related to William Standall? He’s done quite a lot for different communities all around the U.K. I hear.”

Alex nodded. “I’m his son. It’s a blessing and a curse,” he said.

“No, no,” Charlie said, giving Alex a once over. “Definitely not a curse.”

Alex felt his cheeks quickly heating up, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie, fiddling with just about anything he could find on him, which earned him another fond laugh from Charlie.

“So are you enjoying yourself, Alex?” he asked.

“I gotta say, this kind of thing isn’t really my vibe,” Alex replied. “I don’t really like being around these kinds of crowds.”

“These kinds of crowds?” Charlie replied, his tone defensive. “These people have done so much good work for the country.” He crossed his arms. “I’m surprised, I didn’t peg you as the elitist type.”

Alex’s mouth hung open in surprise before he quelled the accusation. “Oh no, that’s exactly the opposite of what I meant. I meant _these_ crowds,” he said, motioning to their direct area, and the ropes that their section sat behind. “These clout-hungry coin chasers who’ll do anything for a tax write-off and a photo opportunity. My conversations with these people are always the same. ‘Oh you’re Bill’s son? I’m so-and-so of so-and-so incorporated, I went to school with your old man, tell him I’m still waiting on his phone call regarding my mediocre investment proposition and my ingenuine feeding program.’” He rolled his eyes. “All just wanting my dad’s signature for something. And soon, that’ll be my brother, and then give it a couple of years, and that’ll be me too.”

Alex grabbed another hors d’oeuvre and stuffed his face, leaning on the edge of the table.

“I hope that this conversation with me hasn’t gone quite that way,” he heard Charlie say. He turned to the prince, noticing he was swaying on his feet and not quite looking at him again. He was… nervous?

“No, it hasn’t,” Alex said. “Believe me, this was much more than I bargained for when I decided to come.”

Charlie’s smile was infectious.

“So,” Charlie said, “how are you finding your accommodations at Windsor Castle? It’s not often that it’s closed to the public to house exclusive guests.”

“Oh it’s great, I kind of love it there. That place is huge.”

“Well, I’m quite chuffed about that,” Charlie said cheerily.

“It makes me feel kind of small though,” Alex added, and Charlie immediately nodded along.

“I know what you mean,” he said. Will you be at the party tonight, then?” Charlie asked, and Alex simply looked at him in confusion. “Oh, I assumed you had been told, my cousins are throwing a small after party tonight after dinner in Waterloo Chamber for some of the younger VIPs. You should come! I would love to see you and your brother there.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was not a small party by any means, there were about sixty people by the roughest of estimates, and Alex wanted to absolutely kill Peter for skipping and forcing him to go anyway. He was just glad that they weren’t hosted in the big hall which could seat a hundred more. But having to sit beside complete strangers from everywhere you could think of made Alex feel like a fish out of water. Charlie was nowhere to be found, either.

Alex found that these people, while away from prying eyes, were loud. Loud as can be with their voices filling up the museum-like chamber in a clamorous and glamorous chorus, the mess of spilt wine and open buttons complemented by the gilded and intricate backdrop of paintings of dead relatives.

The ties were loose, the jackets were off, and the royals were intoxicated. It was a sight to see, to say the least, being a hundred feet away at most from softened, fluid grandchildren of the Queen in a setting that wasn’t so… _official_. It confirmed his own tendencies to want to deviate from ‘royal’ expectation, to carve out his own path. But even with all that, he felt so completely out of his league.

He was stuck in a conversation with Ani Achola, who resided in London herself, and seemed like the complete antithesis of Alex. She was his age, he’d come to realize. She was just finishing up her story about how she’d earned herself a Humphrey Fellowship for Stanford to study International Policy, and Alex sat opposite her and her neatly braided hair and her pristine blue dress, and wondered if this was the kind of person his dad wanted him to be.

“What about you, Alex?” she asked. “What are you going to be studying?”

“Oh, uh… I don’t actually know.” He thought back to his pending applications everywhere, still hoping to get into all the schools he and his father had set eyes on. Although what he was hoping for, he didn’t know. Perhaps he could convince himself that it was for him and for what he wanted, but he would be lying. “I’m still waiting for Columbia but… I don’t think I’ve found the right fit for me, yet. So it’s hard, right now, if I’m being honest.”

“You’ll be fine, Alex,” Ani said. “You’re a bright man, and you have nothing to worry about. We all have our own journeys to happiness.”

“Yeah, I don’t see that happening for me.”

He looked across the large room and saw Charlie for the first time that evening, leaning against the table and talking to his friends. He caught sight of him at the right time, Charlie having just looked over, and they locked eyes. He was gifted his signature smile, and Alex did all he could to suppress the flutter in his stomach. Charlie made his way over in a flash, appearing right beside Alex.

“Mind if I steal him?” Charlie asked Ani, and she shooed them off with a knowing smile. He turned to Alex and offered a hand. “I wanna show you something, but it’s a bit of a walk, is that okay?” he whispered, and Alex’s hand, like a magnet, took Charlie’s, and he was pulled out of his chair, taken out of the room, and straight through the giant hall.

“I’ve never feared being kidnapped by royalty before,” Alex said. “I gotta say, it’s kind of a refreshing fear.”

“Hey, you’re the one who took my hand,” Charlie said in defense.

“That I did,” Alex said, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It really is beautiful here,” he continued, looking around at all the beautiful architecture glowing under the rich light of the chandeliers above them. “Really, really beautiful.”

“Is this the part of the movie where I tell you I agree with you, but you don’t notice that I’m actually just looking at you?” Charlie said. Alex turned to him, and Charlie was indeed just looking at him. He shook his head and pushed Charlie away playfully, the two of them breaking out in giggles.

“You’re such an asshole,” he said, the smile evident in his voice.

“I’m not lying,” Charlie replied, cheeks perked with joy. “You are quite lovely, Alex.”

Alex’s heart skipped and he trudged on in the direction they had established, leaving Charlie walking a few paces behind him. “You’re very confident. I’m suspicious of confident people.”

“I am very confident,” he said. “You know, most people find that attractive.”

Alex turned to face Charlie with a wag of his eyebrows and a devilish smile, and started walking backwards. “Who says I didn’t find it attractive?”

“Ah, he’s playing,” Charlie said. “For a second there, I thought I’d been an idiot barking up the wrong tree.”

“Oh, if you weren’t an idiot, you’d stay away,” Alex said simply. “But bark away, little doggie. Bark away. I like the sound of it.”

Charlie jogged a bit to catch up with Alex, and the two walked side by side as Charlie offered his elbow, which Alex readily linked his arm with. “So where exactly is puppy taking me?” Alex asked. “I’m like The Omen, if you take me to the church, I freak out and combust.”

“Well it’s a good thing it’s no longer Roman Catholic, then,” Charlie said. “And we’re not going all the way over there anyway. There’s a garden in the middle ward that I’d like to take you to. I have special spot there and -“

“Oh wow, you’re going to kill me, how romantic,” Alex said, rolling his eyes. “Was this your plan all along? String me on and then hide my body in some unassuming bush?”

“You’ve figured me out,” Charlie bantered. “I was a fool to think I’d get away with it. Ah well, I guess I’ll just sweep you off your feet. Trust me.”

“Jesus christ, you really are confident,” Alex said. “And why should I trust you? I have no reason to so far- you tricked me into coming to some secret underground royal rager. Who knew all you royals turned _Windsor Castle_ into an open bar? I’ll change my mind about you when I see this white horse of yours that’s going to sweep me off my feet.”

“You’ll see it.”

The two made their way through a couple of short winding halls in horribly dim lighting until the last hall turned out and opened up to reveal the most breathtaking view of the prized garden. Immediately, they saw the terraces – a stunning hill of trees and shrubbery that covered the entire side of the castle, and a vast expanse of lush, perfectly manicured grass, with an old wooden bench facing a circular pond in the middle, all highlighted against the rich evening sky by strategically placed lampposts, causing the garden to twinkle everywhere you looked.

“Holy shit,” Alex whispered as a cool breeze passed through them.

“Swept yet?” Charlie asked, smirking, and Alex turned to look at him.

“I’m floating,” he said, his eyes wide and open, their glisten blending into the trees and the starry night sky, and Charlie’s breath caught in his throat. Charlie offered his hand again, and this time Alex took it slowly, letting their skin slide against each other, feeling the softness of the palm of Charlie’s hand, settling into a tight comfortable grip.

They walked closer to the fountain, hand in hand, and sat at the bench, Alex still so enamored by everything surrounding him.

“I have to say, I’m kind of at a loss for words here,” Alex admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“No?” Charlie asked, surprised. “I would’ve thought things like these with someone of your stature would be a a dime a dozen.”

“Shockingly, I haven’t seen much,” Alex replied. “Bill Standall isn’t really known for vacationing. The most he’ll ever do is a work trip, and even then, he’s usually stuck in a hotel suite. I honestly wish I could be more like him.”

“Why?”

“Things would be so much easier,” Alex said without missing a beat. “I wish we had more in common, and that I wanted to do the things he liked to do too. Maybe then I’d have a clue what I’m meant to be… or maybe I’m just fooling myself, and I just want those things because I want to be less awkward when I have to deal with whoever finds my dad important and thinks I’m an easy way in. Too bad the business gene was used up by the time I was born.”

“So if Alex Standall, son of billionaire Bill Standall, doesn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps, what does he want to do?”

“Music,” Alex sighed, and elicited a hum of surprise from Charlie. “I want to sudy music. I just want to be surrounded by it all the time, and I feel like I hear music everywhere.”

Charlie smiled. “What do you hear now?”

“I can hear the wind rustling the leaves of the trees and the bushes, I can hear the swish of the pond, and the creak of this bench under our weight, and the sound of our feet shifting against the grass… and I can hear my heart beating, and pulsing in my wrist.” He couldn’t help the bit of excitement in his voice, and Charlie was positively beaming listening to him. Alex looked around, and it was the first time he felt like what he saw was exactly the thing that was playing in his head. He settled into his seat more, sinking into the wood and closer to Charlie.

“You’re right, though, about seeing things like this,” Alex said quietly, “there’s no real reason for me to not have seen more. But I guess when you’re living with all this money, and it leads you to… bad decisions, and bad people, and permanent brain damage, your family tends to be protective of you.” Charlie tightened his grip on Alex’s hand ever so slightly at the mention of his accident.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Charlie said. “I’ve read about it, your brain injury, and I wasn’t sure if I could bring it up.”

“It’s okay,” Alex said. “I really don’t mind talking about it. More people should know about it.”

“Well, if I may, your recovery story is quite the remarkable one. And I’m just happy that somehow, you’ve found your way here tonight.” Charlie lifted up their hands briefly, and placed a chaste kiss on the back of Alex’s before setting their grip back down on his lap. Even under the dim light, Alex knew his face was turning pink, and he hid by laying his head on Charlie’s shoulder.

The two stared on out at the garden, new details revealing themselves the more they looked. Over by the topiaries on the side that lined the hill, new flowers of yellow and white hues were just about to bloom.

“I can see why you love it here,” Alex said.

“I used to come here quite often whenever we would stay here, and we wouldn’t have to deal with tourists and visitors,” Charlie replied.

“Is it about your mom?”

Charlie started to shift in his seat, but surprisingly kept his grip on Alex’s hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” Alex said, lifting his head to look at Charloe.

“No, it’s fine,” Charlie said, clearing his throat and wiping his other hand on his lap. “Yeah. I started coming here ever since she passed and I got kind of thrown into this life head first. I was 13 when it happened, that was around four years ago. I came here a lot just to sit down and remember her. Her face, her voice. What she would say to me about this life.”

“What would she say?” Alex asked gently, his thumb now stroking lightly at the back of Charlie’s hand.

“The reason she gave up her title… She was the only of the Queen’s daughters to abdicate. I don’t think she liked how she was raised here. When I was younger, my mum always talked about freedom and making something of our time here, no matter how small of an impact. ‘As long as it’s yours,’ she’d tell me. I guess she didn’t feel like her time was hers. So she married my dad, and… they had me and… I never knew this life until she died.”

Alex thought to his own life, the only kind he’d ever known, the one that he’d taken for granted until it was almost taken away completely. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That must’ve been hard.”

“I don’t like to complain,” Charlie said, his voice accompanied by a deep sigh. “Who would complain about suddenly becoming a prince?”

“A prince without a mother?” Alex offered, and Charlie shook his head.

“I still have a father. He’s an incredible man. And we were fine, anyway, without all of this. I mean, as fine as someone could be if they had lost their mother, or their wife. We just… needed some help,” he said.

“We all do, every now and then. Just because we have it better than most people doesn’t mean our struggles should be set aside,” Alex said.

“I know,” Charlie replied. “It’s been four years, though, and I’m still trying to take it all in. It’s an adjustment, to say the least. But I’ve found ways. It’s the reason I started cooking on my own, actually. I’ve made every single recipe she left behind. I guess it was my of not losing touch with her, or all that she taught me. Or maybe I just missed her cooking.”

The two stared at the pond, at the glistening, rippling water that caught the light’s reflection every now and then, and the cool night air did much to ease them, finding comfort and warmth sitting right next to each other.

“I didn’t mean to ruin the mood,” Charlie said quietly, turning to face Alex.

“You didn’t,” he replied, shifting to meet him halfway, his eyes searching Charlie’s. “I promise. You didn’t at all.”

Alex could tell Charlie was wrestling with something in his mind, Charlie’s eyes shifting between looking at either of his own so swiftly that it made his own heart race, his pulse beating so intensely under the skin of his wrist that Charlie felt it from where he held Alex.

“I hope it’s not too forward of me, Alex, but I would really like to kiss you now,” Charlie said, breathlessly. In any other case, at any other time, with anyone else, Alex would have laughed at the earnesty, but there was something about Charlie, in the way he held him and in the way he was looked at, and all he could do was nod yes.

“I would love that,” he whispered, and Charlie leaned in ever so gently to close the gap, his free hand raised slowly to caress the side of Alex’s face so softly, and Alex melted into him as their lips touched. They glided smoothly against each other, careful and tender, sending small shockwaves to Alex’s brain and down his spine, through the pit of his stomach, and down to the tips of his toes. It didn’t last for more than a few seconds, but Alex could’ve sworn he spent an eternity in it.

The second they separated, the grin on Charlie’s face was the biggest Alex had seen that day, ever infectious, and Alex laid his free hand on top of the one that was still holding on to Charlie.

“I didn’t expect this day to go like this,” Alex admitted.

“Good or bad?” Charlie asked, and Alex laughed in return.

“It’s so much better than I bargained for.”

“So, you don’t regret coming?” Charlie asked.

“You’re ridiculous,” Alex said, nudging Charlie’s shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve been this happy in a while.”

“Good. Me neither.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! Reviews are hotpots and kbbq! <3


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